[for a brief explanation of this ongoing series, as well as a full table of contents, go here]
But is it useful? On the difference between chess and chmess
“Philosophy is garbage, but the history of garbage is scholarship,” said Harvard philosopher Burton Dreben, as quoted by Dennett in chapter 76 of his often delightful and sometimes irritating Intuition Pumps and Other Tools for Thinking (2014). One could reasonably wonder why an illustrious philosopher approvingly quotes another illustrious philosopher who is trashing the very field that made them both famous and to which they dedicated their lives. But my anthropological observations as a relative newcomer (from science) into philosophy confirm that my colleagues have an uncanny tendency to constantly shoot themselves in the foot, and often even enjoy it (as we have seen in Chapter 1).
Be that as it may, Dreben’s comment does ring true, though it should be (slightly) modified to read: a lot of philosophy is garbage, but the history of garbage is scholarship. The fact is, however, that the very same thing can (and should) be said of scholarship in any field. Perhaps the case will not be controversial for certain particular areas of academic inquiry (which shall go duly unspecified), but I think the “a lot of garbage” summary judgment applies also to science itself, the current queen of the academy. Indeed, this was said as early as 1964 by John Platt, in a famous and controversial article published in Science magazine. Here is how he put it: “We speak piously of taking measurements and making small studies that will ‘add another brick to the temple of science.’ Most such bricks just lie around in the brickyard.”
I’ve done and read a significant amount of scholarship in both the natural sciences (biology) and philosophy (of science and related fields) (e.g., Pigliucci 2001; Pigliucci and Kaplan 2006) and I can attest that what Platt, Dreben and Dennett say is pretty much uncontroversially true. And moreover, that many people working in those fields recognize it as such, except of course when it comes to their own little bricks in the temple. How is this possible? Dennett explains it in terms of the difference between chess and chmess. I will assume that we are all familiar with the first game. The second one is Dennett’s own invention, and works exactly like chess, the only difference being that the King can move two, rather than one, squares in every direction. Needless to say, many people play (and care about) chess. Not so many are into chmess.
Dennett further explains that a lot of scholarship in philosophy is like trying to solve chess problems — which resonates exactly with what I have been trying to convince the reader of for a while now: philosophical inquiry is a search for logical truths that hold within a defined conceptual space of possibilities. As far as it goes, it’s not a bad analogy, except for the fact that quite a bit of philosophy is actually concerned with the sort of conceptual problems that matter in real life (think epistemology, ethics, political philosophy, and even philosophy of science, at its best), which means it also needs to be informed by the findings of both the natural and social sciences. Still, Dennett’s point is that trying to solve logical problems posed by chmess is just as difficult as trying to solve the very similar problems posed by chess, with the crucial difference that almost nobody gives a damn about the former. A lot of philosophers, he maintains, devote their careers to studying chmess, they are quite good at it, and they manage to convince a small number of like minded people that the pursuit is actually worth a lifetime of efforts. But they are mistaken, and they would realize it if they bothered to try two tests, also of Dennett’s own devising:
1) Can anyone outside of academic philosophy be bothered to care about what you think is important scholarship?
2) Can you manage to explain what you are doing to a bunch of bright (but, crucially, uninitiated — i.e., not yet indoctrinated) undergraduates? (For obvious reasons, your own colleagues and graduate students don’t count for the purposes of the test.)
I think Dennett is exactly right, but — again — I don’t think the tests in question should be carried out only by philosophers. Every academic ought to do it, as a matter of routine. I cannot begin to tell you about the countless number of research seminars in biology I have attended over decades, and about which the recurrent commentary in my own head (and, occasionally, with colleagues and students, after a glass of wine) was: “clever, but who cares?” Another quip quoted by Dennett, this one by Donald Hebb, comes to mind: “If it isn’t worth doing, it isn’t worth doing well.”
So, what, if anything, should be done with this state of affairs? This is a crucial question, which can be reformulated as: why should the public keep supporting universities (and, in the sciences, provide large research grants) to people who mostly, and perversely, insist in wasting (or at the least, underutilizing) their lives while figuring out the intricacies of chmess? Similarly, shouldn’t Deans, Provosts and university Presidents tell their faculty to stop squandering their brain power and get on with some project more germane to the public’s interest, or else? Francis Bacon might have agreed. He famously thought that the very point of human inquiry is not just knowledge broadly construed, but specifically knowledge that helps in human affairs. His famous motto was Ipsa scientia potestas est, knowledge is power. Power to control nature and to improve our lives, that is. In fact, even the famous Victorian debate on the nature of induction between John Stuart Mill and William Whewell (Snyder 2012), which pretty much began the modern field of philosophy of science, was actually a debate about the best way to gain knowledge that could be deployed for socially progressive change, to which both Mill and Whewell were passionately committed.
One answer to what to do about the problem is provided by Dennett himself in his essay referenced above: “let a thousand flowers bloom … but just remember … count on 995 of them to wilt.” Which essentially — and a bit more poetically — echoes Platt’s sentiment from half a century before. That seems right, and it is particularly easy to see in the case of basic (as opposed to applied, or targeted) scientific research, although it goes also for scholarship in philosophy, history, literary criticism or what have you. The whole thing is predicated on what amounts to a shotgun approach to knowledge: you let people metaphorically fire wherever they wish, and statistically speaking they’ll occasionally hit a worthy target. Crucially, there doesn’t seem to be a way, certainly not a centralized or hierarchically determinable way, to improve the efficacy of the target shooting. If we want knowledge about the world (or anything else), our best bet is to give smart and dedicated people pretty much free rein and a modest salary, then sit back and wait for the possible societal returns — which will fail to materialize more than 99% of the times.
So, yes, much of philosophical (and other) scholarship is indeed more like chmess than chess, and we may justifiably roll our eyes when we hear about it. But the difference between chmess and chess is not always clear, and it’s probably best left to the practitioners themselves and their communities to sort it out. The important point is that we do make progress in our understanding of whatever game we are playing as long as we allow smart and dedicated people to keep playing it.
Dennett, D. (1996) Darwin’s Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life. Simon & Schuster.
Pigliucci, M. (2001) Phenotypic Plasticity: Beyond Nature and Nurture. Johns Hopkins University Press.
Pigliucci, M. and Kaplan, J. (2006) Making Sense of Evolution: The Conceptual Foundations of Evolutionary Biology. University of Chicago Press.
Platt, J. (1964) Strong inference. Science 146:347-353.
Snyder, L.J. (2012) Experience and necessity: the Mill-Whewell debate, in: J.R. Brown (ed.), Philosophy of Science: the Key Thinkers. Comtinuum, chapter 1.
Okay, I believe the two of you have made abundantly clear how you feel about things…
I believe you have read my book, so you should know what I believe philosophy is in the business of doing: propose a number of alternative accounts of things that can be used as frameworks for better understanding.
But that’s not what science is about: evopsych is a science, in the light of its own supporters. So producing plausible scenarios just ain’t enough.
“evopsych is a science, in the light of its own supporters”
You keep saying so, but you’ve not backed up this claim with quotes or anything other than your own assertion. I am one of it’s supporters and my view of it is not as you portray. And I can confidently say the same is true of most of it’s practitioners and supporters that I have read.
First of all it IS scientific in that the hypotheses are formed in the usual scientific manner and it is tested as far as they can possibly test it. So it is far closer to science than you make it out to be. It is incomplete and inconclusive science and it’s practitioners are well aware of that. Any theories that come from it are guesswork due to the untestability. And for this reason caution appears in all of their literature.
If you want me to believe otherwise, you’ll need to start backing up your claim with quotes.
And in the end the guesswork of EP broadly construed is more enlightening to me about human morality than most philosophy because most moral philosophers were working in the dark to natural selection. It changes everything in morality. Any moral philosophers who do not note this are missing the boat IMO. It is sailing to the land of understanding morality better. Philosophers who do not get on board will be left behind. There are philosophers on board. They know what time it is.
I’ve been reading the evopsych literature for more than a decade. If you don’t mind, I know what I’m talking about, and you can do your own googling of it. If you are a “supporter” but haven’t read the literature I don’t known what to tell you. I surely have no time to do your homework for you. I honestly don’t care what you do or do not believe, I have expressed my opinion as a professional evolutionary biloogist, which I have backed up with plenty of evidence and references in my books and papers. Read, for instance, Making Sense of Evolution, Chicago Press. Sorry, I cannot send you a free copy.
You can’t ever seem to remember that other academic professional biologists and philosophers have also been “reading the evopsych literature for more than a decade” and they also “know what they are talking about” and they hold the same view I do. So this authority from credentialism is a non starter and we’re back to it being just your unsupported assertion that evopsych practitioners ignorantly think they are doing real science.
And no, I don’t think the onus is on me to buy your book to find out if you have actually supported this claim in the past. If you can’t support it here in these pages where you have asserted, it so be it. You are right that you certainly do not have to concern yourself with whether or not your assertion is believed by the likes of me. There are plenty of people on this blog who are with you 110% on this.
You are of course under no obligation to buy my book. But no, I’m under no obligation to defend here claims that I defended in print several times over. It is up to the interested parties to document themselves.
I’m pretty sure my father was cool too, though I don’t know what that has to do with our discussions…
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